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The Thunder Storm

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The hissing sounds of the trees
Threaten me with their ominous waves
Their shadows lurk over me
As if to say I shouldn't be here
Yet what am I?
The opening to the wonders?
No.
I am only the peephole to inwhich beauty can find
As the thunder moves through me
And the lightning streaks past
They scream to my lashes
To only let them pass
But who am I to determine fate?
For I am the window
As my owner looks through transparent glass.





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